Love Lives Beyond
by Swallows Fly as Free as a Bird
Summary: Daisy, she was the love of Jay Gatsby's life. What if Gatsby did learn to move on from her, from a Italian immigrant only looking to support her family by working as a maid in the large mysterious mansion in West Egg.


_Love lives beyond_

_The tomb, the earth, which fades like dew—_

_ I love the fond,_

_The faithful, and the true_

_-"Love Lives Beyond the Tomb"_

_By John Clare_

* * *

Papa died two weeks ago.

The doctor was a middle aged, stout man with short hair that streaked in simmering grey, hiding the last lingering color of its original black underneath the aging streaks as I fought the urge to gaze into his eyes when he told us. I wanted their steely beauty to remain anonymous, hidden behind those fine, round glasses that disappeared into the oblivion of memory like the rest of his face and his name.

In truth, I didn't want to remember a moment of that fateful night because I loved my Papa dearly. And yet as hard as I wanted to forget, I could recall every second of it. I remembered the kitchen was filled with the rich odor of the roses that Claudia had picked earlier, the gusts of winds that swept through the Italian countryside and picked up speed against the trees in the garden as the rain pelted onto the windowpanes.

With the tragic news finally settling into my mind, I had shifted positions of importance within my family now. The vacant position of provider for this small family of mine lay empty because of my father's untimely death. My mother, my twin brothers, and my dear sister, they couldn't possibly fill into Papa's shoes. I was the eldest child, it fell to me, it had become my duty in a moment. And yet, the doctor still remains faceless, nameless, and irrelevant but he changed my life with five words.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Death was one of the inevitable mysteries of life, it came and went when it pleased, it took the good and the bad into the eternal sleep, and it felt no emotions itself yet it caused a multitude of feelings to the affected, still breathing members of this world. Death would come into my life and snatch my Papa, and I still have not been able to come to terms with his death. It was unfair. The beautiful and fair should never be touched by something so wretched and cheated.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Vitali."

His greying mustache that was nestled above his lip twitched occasionally when he spoke to the five of us in the small kitchen of our cottage. My mother didn't respond, but bowed her head and focused her gaze into the golden band around her left ring finger with despondency. He then turned to my two younger brothers across from mother, Claudia and I with his expression colorless, cold and dead panned as he awaited a word from our silent family.

"I am sorry Leonardo and Ethan."

They didn't say anything. They were too shocked and pained to mutter a word. My brothers merely nodded solemnly at his comment. It meant nothing, our father was dead and a apology- in which none was needed- would comfort a grieving widow and her four children. Nevertheless, the doctor took this as a sign of improvement from being able to coax a reaction or emotion other then shock and silence from us. Claudia remained frozen into the seat beside me with her nails digging into the wood, her teeth gritting with indignation and anger with her expression in pure hatred and denial.

"Claudia, Vivian, please understand I've tried everything. I'm sorry."

He must of noticed my sister's anger, and immediately after he said this I felt the air of the room change. Papa was dead. We were alive. The question of what now was on all our minds at the time.

But that was two weeks ago.

* * *

My father always told me stories of coming to the new world when I was a little girl. He told me about how glorious the tall buildings were in the night-time, the towers of concrete and lights that were the crowning achievement of New York City. This fascinated me greatly as a child, to hear that the night-time air always had a certain esthetic of excitement and opportunity that never faltered at the break of dawn. That atmosphere never simmered into the morning dew but continued throughout the day and into the next night. He immediately knew I became enamored with the big city.

Immediately, the jewel of the new world became a dream, a romantic land where the money flowed and the people were beautiful creatures, dancing with suits of silk and dresses of glitter. Every night was a new adventure into the concrete jungle, being that I was only a small village girl from Italy, my imaginary visits to New York held a special place in my childhood. These visits would become reality when my family packed up and took the journey of a lifetime across the Atlantic, to move on to the new world.

This is where I was now, looking out to the vast open ocean that lay ahead of the steam liner with Francesc Petacchi, a new found acquaintance aboard this ship as well. Francesc had helped Claudia board the ship when my sister couldn't carry all her luggage. That's how we met, when he followed us all down to our small room in the C floor and politely dropped off Claudia's various bags. However hard I tried to convince my sister to not be so naive, she was immediately captivated by the Venetian along with mother.

_"Oh Vivian, he is __**so**__ polite."_ Mother chimed adoringly with a small hint dropped at the end but Claudia wouldn't have a word of that.

_"Isn't he perfect for me though Mama?"_

_"Claudia you're 17."_

Do not take this wrong, he was handsome. I was just wary of him because of his bright smiles and warm personality, being Italian, men don't just help unless they expect something in return. Which was something I would not have any woman in my family do, being that I was the small leader of us Vitali's.

His warm brown eyes were almost surprised when I told him if he got any ideas of stealing her things I would hunt him down. Since that incident a week ago, my threats subsided-much to his amusement- and we began to chat about ourselves. He was traveling with his family to New York City too, and already our typical Italian families shared dinner and talked of the old country.

"Beautiful. Isn't it Vivian?" I sigh dreamily in agreement as I continued to watch the waves slowly crash back into the water. I felt his presence move in closer, his large hand snaking around my waist and holding me to his chest. "We shall be in New York soon enough Ivy, imagine that!"

But I have imagined New York City since I was 7 years old, I didn't want to dream anymore, I wanted to see it.


End file.
